Rollerball: The Real Thing
by Michelle Leigh Earls
Summary: Moniqua DuBois finally meets the man from her dreams . . . but will she be able to uncover and handle the truth about him before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

_"Moniqua."_

_I glanced around nervously, searching desperately for the person calling out my name. This wasn't the first time I had heard this voice calling out to me and no matterthe tone, I could recognize it in a heart beat. The voice definitely masculine, at least an octave lower than my own, and was saturated with a thick accent which I identified as pure, rich Parisien, the exact same as my own._

_"Moniqua." The voice was in a playful mood this time, repeating my christened name in a sing-songy way._

_I turned in what I had thought was the direction from which the voice had come. Snow, beautiful and white, floated gently and aimlessly onto the streets of Chicago and covered any tracks recently made. There was no sign anyone was near, yet I could feel a presence, just like every other time I had heard the voice. "Who is out there? Why do you call my name?"_

_"Moniqua."_

_"Who are you?" I shouted out, frusrated and about ready to give up. "Show yourself!"_

_"Moniqua." My skin crawled and my hair stood on end as I felt my name breathed onto the nape of my neck. "Moniqua."_

_I turned around to face a man I did not recognize. He appeared to be over six feet tall, a little more than four inches taller than myself. His hair, cut close to his head, was dark brown - almost black - and matched his mysterious eyes. He was visible from the slight tug of his clothing. His shirt was blood red and appeared to be made of velvet. Every other piece of clothing, including his gothic-style jacket, was fashioned out of fake black leather. I glanced back up at his face and noticed his dark moustache, which ran parallel above his lips before each end dipped down and touched his jawline. _

_I swallowed hard, surprised to discover the owner of the mystery voice now caused a pang of desire to ripple through me. "Wha-what do you w-want? What do you s-seek?"_

_"Moniqua." He raised his hands and reached for my throat._


	2. Chapter 2

My alarm clock buzzed and startled me awake. I turned off the alarm before I cradled my head in my hands. Dreams similar to that one had haunted my slumber since I was ten. Usually, I would only hear the voice, no one in sight, and the dream would only occur once or twice a month. This was the fifth dream this week.

I clambered out of bed and checked the calender. It was September 5th, 2079, six days before my thirtieth birthday. According to my grandmother, Michele Leigh, I was born on a very important date in World History, a day America had forgotten. In my mind, if it did not happen during my lifetime, I do not care.

In one hour, I was punching in for work at a restaurant called Rollerball. Originally, it had been built as a memorial of the movie from 1975 and its remake in 2002. However, a Frenchman known only as AP, made Rollerball a reality - minus the bloodshed - in 2075 as part of the restaurant's fiftieth anniversary.

I smiled politely over at the manager, Alisha O'Briar, as I hung up my coat. "Anything exciting happen today?"

"Not yet," she replied, looking up at me with her green eyes. "However, AP called me earlier. He's going to visit the restaurant today!"

"Really?" Iwas a little surprised, but not excited. I could care less if I ever met AP, but still, it is not every day you see a celebrity. "Why is he coming here today?"

"Did you forget?" she asked, oviously horrified I could forget whatever I had forgotten. "Don't you know what day it is today, Moniqua?"

"September sixth, two thousand seventy-nine," I replied simply. "So?"

"_So?_It's Rollerball Memorial Day, Moniqua! AP visits one Rollerball restaurant every year on Rollerball Memorial Day." Alisha came closer to me as I pulled on my boots for work.

"Well, I hope whoever waits on him today will care a little more than I do right now," I told her honestly, putting on my stage make-up.

Alisha placed her hands on her hips. "So do I, because if she doesn't, she's going to find herself fired."

"I would feel sorry for her if she did not care."

"I'd feel sorry for you, too."

I glanced over at Alisha. "You have to be kidding me."

"No, I'm not."

"Alisha, you know how I feel about serving celebrities, especially after what happened last week."

She sighed. "I know, but AP would only agree to visit our restaurant if he was served by some one from his own country. You're the only French person on our staff."

"Give me two good reasons to serve AP, then I will do it."

"I'll give you three. One; he's a celebrity. He'll probably give you a bigger tip than regular customers. Two; I will pay you three times your regular paycheck for doing this. And three; if you don't do it, I'll fire you."

I swallowed. "That last one was an excellent clincher, Alisha. When will AP be here?"

Alisha smirked. "AP will be arriving at noon. Good luck, Moniqua." She walked away as I glanced up at the clock. It was almost eleven o' clock, a whole hour for worrying.

I looked in the mirror and straightened my wig. I was supposed to resemble Aurora, one of the main characters from the 2002 version of Rollerball. The only things I had in common with her were m facial features and my body shape. My eye color, when I was not it costume, was a vivid violet while hers had been a pale green. The wig - which represented her black, straight, short-cut hair - hid my long, curly blond hair. My mother said I would break a lot of hearts, but instead I had remained single throughout my entire life.

I sighed and walked through the double doors to the dining area, plastering a fake smile on my face as I began waiting on tables. It was a simple job; take the customers' orders, give it to the cooks, give the customers their drinks while they are waiting, give the food to the customers, refill their drinks, give the customers their receipt, and clean up the customers' tables after the customers leave. As I said, it is a simple job.

Somehow during the next hour, I had totally forgottenabout AP's arrival and lost track time until noon, which was when a very large group of photographers were taking pictures with their specially-made solar-powered cameras of some poor individual hidden from my view.

"It's him!" exclaimed Alisha excitedly. "It's AP!"

I finished taking the order of a family of six (with whom I would rather have spent my time) as Alisha escorted AP to the best seat in the restaurant. I took one good lokk at the man and nearly fainted. _He was the man from my dreams!_ He appeared almost exactly as I had seen him in my dream that night. He was wearing a fur coat rather than the velvet and fake leather, but other than that, he was exactly the same. "Where is my waitress?" I heard him ask.

Alisha did not hesitate to point me out. "Her name is Moniqua DuBois, AP. She will be with you in a minute." She quickly took the family's order from me before she turned to the photograph-taking groupies. "This restaurant does not permit any type of photography or video-recording. If they aren't powered down and put away, our security team will destroy your devices and throw you out. Have a nice day." She smiled as all the cameras and equipment were immediately powered down and the Rollerball staff resumed working.

I grabbed a menu off of the large stack and brought it over to AP. "Thank you for coming to Rollerball, sir. Please make a selection from our menu by pressing your finger on the Electronic-Selection Pad and we will have it ready for you immediately. Take as much time as you need." I tried to keep the smile plastered on my face. Even if he _was _in my dream, it did not matter. He was _still_ a celebrity. "Is there anything you would prefer to drink, Monsieur AP?"

A small smile tugged on his thin lips. "I will take a large cup of coffee." His voice was low and coated with a richer Parisien accent than my own, sending shivers down my spine. "Black, if you please." As I turned to retreive the coffee, he said, "Oh, and Mademoiselle Dubois . . . " He waited until I had turned to face him. " . . . My real name is not AP. It is Alexis Petrovich."

For the first time that day, a real smile slowly crept its way into my lips. "It is a real pleasure to meet you, Alexis Petrovich."

"And it is an equal pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle DuBois." He returned the smile warmly.

"You can call me Moniqua," I told him. My smile lingered as I entered the kitchen.

"What're you smilin' for, Moniqua?" asked Pete, one of the older and meaner cooks. "Didja get a better job as a mistress for dat French playboy?"

"Pete, do not bother me today, please." The smile on my face almost immediately disappeared, leaving an ugly scowl. "If you must know, I was smiling because one the customers said something and I found it to be very amusing. After all, I'm French; I find everyone's pain funny but my own." I grabbed a large-sized coffee mug out of one of the cupboards and put it into the Mind-Reading Automatic Liquid Dispenser (MRALD), a small smile tugging at my lips for quoting one of my grandmother's favorite movies, _Flushed Away_. As the MRALD read my mind and began dispensing black coffee, I tried to think. Alexis Petrovich. I knew I had heard that name before. It sounded vaguely familliar. _The next time I see Grandmere, I will have to ask her if she recognizes the name._I shrugged off the feeling as I took the cup of coffee to Alexis Petrovich.

"Thank you, Moniqua." He took the coffee mug and I felt a small twinge of excitement when his warm fingers brushed against mine.

For a brief moment, I forgot to breath. "Are you ready to order, Alexis?" I finally managed to ask.

"Almost," he replied. "I will be when you order."

I blinked. "Wait! What did you say?"

He smiled seductively. "I said,'I will be when you order.' I would like you to join me for lunch, Moniqua."

"Alexis, that is really sweet of you, but . . . my boss . . . "

"I told her of my plans when you went to get my coffee," he informed me, flashing an award-winning smile which sent shivers down my spine. "She said it was fine with her. So, make a selection on the ESP, mine is already on there." He handed me the menu and I took his, I mean our, order to Pete.

"Is this that French playboy's order?" he asked as I placed it into the ESP-reading machine.

"He is not a playboy," I said, trying to convince myself more than Pete. "And his name is Alexis Petrovich."

"Alexis?" Pete laughed. "So AP's actually gay!"

I hushed him, knowing how much Alisha loathed that word. "AP is not like that, Pete, now shut up!"

"What's going on in here, Moniqua?" Alisha stepped into the kitchen.

I pointed a finger at Pete. "He is harassing me and making fun of a customer, Alisha."

She put her hands on her hips. "Not my celebrity customer, I hope." When I nodded, Alisha's face turned almost as red as her roots. "Pete, I've had enough of your crap. Turn in your uniform and get out of my restaurant!"

Furious, Pete pointed a thick finger in my direction. "You'll be sorry, Moniqua. I'll get you back for this, ya hear? You'll pay for this!" He pulled off his apron and threw it on the floor before he exited through the back doors.

Little did I know, that was only the beginning of my troubles.


End file.
